


Sandwiches & Night Moves

by BlazeEBlake



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dancing, Dirty Dancing, Ficlet, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 13, Sam Knows, Sam Ships It, Sandwiches, Short One Shot, Slow Dancing, Swayze Always Gets A Pass, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 23:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11931375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeEBlake/pseuds/BlazeEBlake
Summary: Dean wakes up to strange music and a burgeoning hunger, both of which lead to an unexpected exchange with a certain former angel.





	Sandwiches & Night Moves

**Author's Note:**

> Set after speculated season 13 Castiel resurrection. Partly based on a prompt from Tumblr: "it's 2am in the bunker and Cas is in the kitchen. He's playing soft, slow, waltz music then dean walks in to get a snack. He stares at Cas, and Cas is about to turn it off, embarrassed of his taste in music, but dean grabs him by the hand gently and starts slow dancing with him"

Friggin 2AM.

Dean wasn’t sure what exactly had woken him, the powerful hunger bubbling in his stomach, or the gentle melodic hum drifting through his cracked door. In either case he was up, squinting first into the dark of his room and then at the clock beside his bed, the early hour at its face glowing back mockingly. For a few moments he strained his ears for the faint rhythms at the edge of his consciousness, for the music he was starting to believe he’d imagined. Suddenly, his gut burbled audibly and, with a sigh, he rose from the bed to pad into the hallway, set on satisfying at least part of what had disturbed his slumber.

He and Sam had gotten back to the bunker late that night after a routine salt and burn turned complicated, and all he had wanted to do was collapse on to a decent mattress and shut out the world for a while. Apparently, given the time, his stomach was only content to allow him a few hours peace before going into full revolt. He didn’t feel up to hauling baby or his own ass out for the greasy-spoon fixings his body craved, so he would have to settle for whatever was left in the pantry or fridge. He wasn’t near awake enough yet to remember exactly what that was, but he hoped that he wasn’t so out of it that he’d imagined his brother stocking up a few days prior.

As he neared the kitchen, the melodies he’d written off swelled to meet him and when he came to his destination, he found its source.

Castiel stood at the counter beside the refrigerator, open containers of peanut butter and jelly resting at his elbow, alongside a half empty bag of Wonder Bread. An old radio rested on the table behind him, a familiar classical tune Dean couldn’t quite place filtering through its speakers. Cas hummed along quietly and swayed in time, so far oblivious to the audience he had gained. Dean froze in place, both surprised and wary of the disruption his sudden intrusion would inevitably cause.

He and the former angel hadn’t talked much since he’d come back, all the way back from death and what it had done to him. There had, of course, been the typical pats on the back, murmurs of how it was good to have him back, even a hug that had lingered too long and not long enough, but no real conversation. Cas had been quiet, contemplative even and somewhat detached. Sam insisted he just needed time, that he would come around however he needed when things were settled and there was a little more distance between him and the hardest of it, but that didn’t stop Dean from feeling something hanging between them, a weight of things he was supposed to say and hadn’t. Things he promised he would say if ever given the chance.

While he wrestled with this and whether or not just back out and try to sleep away his hunger, Castiel turned to adjust the radio’s volume and caught him staring.

“Dean,” he rumbled, eyes widening, “I–Did I wake you? I was just turning it down.” 

“Nah,” Dean replied, waving him off, “Stomach won’t shut up. Whatcha makin’?”

“Oh, just a sandwich. Now that I’m– well, things no longer taste like molecules, so my fondness for peanut butter and jelly can once more be indulged.”

“Right, right.” Dean nodded and fell silent, allowing the music to fill the space between them as his eyes darted between the floor and the intense blue gaze fixed upon him.

“Would you… Like one?” Castiel asked finally. Dean opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by another loud protest from his gut.

“Sounds like the grade-school stuff ain’t gonna cut it,” he chuckled, making his way around the table to the refrigerator. He threw open the door and after a few seconds of searching took hold of a package of turkey, lettuce, tomato, and a jar of mustard.

“Stop screwing around with the radio and c'mere,” he said, brushing past Castiel and dumping his findings beside the bag of bread, “I’ll show you how to make a real sandwich.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas mused, returning to the counter beside him, “Is there an aspect of PB&J that makes it less authentic than other cuisine?” Dean shifted his gaze to shoot him a look, only to find him smiling faintly.

“Wait are you– Are you messing with me right now?” Dean asked, brows raised. Castiel offered him a perplexed scowl that didn’t quite erase the twitch at the edge of his lips and Dean barked out a short laugh before returning his attentions to sandwich assembly.

“Leave it to you to come back with a sense of humor,” he smirked.

“I don’t know that humor is any indication,” he reasoned, working at his own snack, “but I suppose I have come back somewhat altered.”

“No, man,” Dean argued, eyes firmly planted on his ingredients, “Just… Ok, so no more angel mojo but that’s not what made you, ya know, you. I mean, you’re still Cas, our Cas.”

“That’s kind of you to say Dean. Thank you.”

“Yeah well.” For the second time, an awkward hush fell between them, countered only by the waltz that persisted behind them, and Dean ran his tongue over his lips in what he told himself was concentration on the task at hand. 

“Boom!” Dean exclaimed as he finished his construction, “Now that is a sandwich.” 

“I suppose it does look appetizing,” Cas relented.

“Damn right.” Dean raised his hand for a high five, eliciting a genuinely perplexed stare from the shorter man.

“Dude, you’re s'posed to hit it,” he advised, rolling his eyes, “You know, high five?”

“Right, of course,” he said, weakly slapping Deans’s outstretched palm, “Sorry. I thought–I must be more tired than I thought. I’m still reacquainting myself with sleep.” He shakes his head and lowers his eyes to the ground, a blush creeping into his cheeks.

“You thought… What?” Dean pressed . 

“Nothing,” Cas insisted , “It’s stupid, for many reasons.”

“Cas, what the hell are you talkin’ about?” 

“Just… With the music playing, the position of your hand– Dancing, I thought dancing.”

“Like, you and me dancing?”

“As I said stupid. For so many reasons, not the least of which the notion of you waltzing. I can’t imagine–”

“Wait, you don’t think I got moves? Cuz I can be downright classy.” Castiel’s eyes dart back up to him, his confusion returned. Dean knew he was nitpicking, but the question of his abilities was easier to latch onto than the host of questions and reactions Cas’s misstep had given rise to. Or perhaps it was that in this nonsensical situation, Dean had found an opening of sorts. Sniffing and pursing his lips, he held his hands up and gave his companion a pointed look.

“Dean,” Castiel said, frown deepening. 

“Come on man, I won’t bite,” he countered. When the former angel continued to hesitate, Dean sighed and pulled the man to him, clasping their hands together and resting the Cas’s free arm on his shoulder.

“I lead, watch out for my toes,” Dean cautioned, wrapping his own arm around Castiel’s waist. Cas glanced between their feet and his face, lips parted but un-moving, and with a nervous smirk Dean began to sway and slowly guide them around the kitchen.

“Dunno if this actually counts as a waltz,” he muttered after a few minutes, “But not bad, right?”

“No,” Castiel agreed, still largely focused on their feet, “Where did you…?”

“Dirty Dancing. Swayze always gets– No, that’s not right. I… I just love that movie.”

“I see.” The music paused for spell as the song changed, leaving them in momentary but true silence.

“Cas,“ Dean began, slowing them back to a gentle sway, “I… I really missed you when you were gone. It hurt, almost as much as when Lucifer took you from us. From me.” 

“I missed you as well, Dean,” he replied, blue eyes slowly returning to meet his.

 “You matter to me. More than almost anyone, you know that, right?”

“Yes, we’re family, you’ve said as much.” Dean shook his head. A spike of anxiety jabbed at his already unruly stomach but he’d come too far to stop now.

“Not just like that,” he insisted, “To me you’re– it’s more than that. I lo–” A sound from the hallway cut him off, and before long a bleary-eyed Sam stumbled into the kitchen.

“Hey guys,” he mumbled, making his way across the room, “Couldn’t sleep either?” Dean and Castiel remained silent, frozen in the hold Dean had arranged them in. Either still half asleep or oblivious, Sam reached for the refrigerator door before pausing with a short gasp. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of Dean’s face, and he could feel the pulse in Cas’s wrist quicken against his own skin.

“You guys made sandwiches,” Sam said, taking hold of what Dean had prepared, “Nice.” With that, he shuffled past them and out of sight, leaving the two of them to make an attempt at catching their breath. After a decent stretch of time, Castiel was the first to speak.

“Dean–”

“Hey,” Sam jumped in, popping his head back around the corner, “Could you two, uh, turn the music down? I can hear it all the way in my room.” This was enough to break them apart, and as Sam departed once more Castiel moved to quiet the radio.

“Damnit,” Dean rasped, scrubbing a hand against the back of his head. Castiel offered him a dismayed grimace before hurriedly taking up the remaining sandwich and starting toward his own departure. Still recovering from his very recent shock, Dean watched him attempt to slip away, nearly taking too long to come to his senses

“Hey,” he said, grabbing at Cas’s elbow to stop him, “wasn’t done talking to you.” 

“It’s alright,” he croaked, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice, “You don’t have to.” He forced a smile that failed to reach his eyes and it was just about all Dean could stand.

Now or never, Winchester.

He surged forward, grabbing the man’s shirt and pressing their lips together somewhat rougher than he’d planned. For all his stubble, Cas was softer than he had expected and better than he’d ever imagined in the rare instances where he had allowed himself those fleeting fantasies. When they finally pulled apart, far too soon by Dean’s reckoning, they were once more out of breath.

“I love you, Cas,” he panted, loosening his grip on the man’s collar.

“I–I love you too, Dean,” Castiel answered, eyes still wide with shock. 

“Good. Now sit down and eat your sandwich at the table like you got some damn manners.” Cas nodded and dutifully took a seat at the kitchen table, leaving Dean to stalk back toward the refrigerator for yet another round of gathering ingredients.

“Can’t believe it,” Dean grumbled, “Dick cockblocks  _and_  takes my damn sandwich.” Behind him, Dean heard Castiel chuckle and then the click of the radio turning on. As music filtered back into the kitchen, Dean once again set to work on meal prep and found himself humming through an irrepressible smile.

Friggin 2AM indeed.


End file.
